Run But Never Hide
by Kaitlinbell
Summary: COMPLETE. A tragedy occurs in Marco's life that causes him to push Dylan away yet again. To run from who he is. You can run...but you can never hide.
1. Default Chapter

I know everyone wants me to finish "Learning to Live With It" but this one, quite literally, just popped up and I had to write it. It will be shorter than my original...and who knows which one will be better. Probably LTLWI....but still. This one will actually have a bit of drama! ::gasp!::

Also, to all you homophobes out there...this is where I tell you to hit the back button and continue on with your dull close-minded existence. Have a nice day. 

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**Run But Never Hide**

Marco snuggled closer to Dylan on the couch and tipped his head back slightly to look at the older boy's ghostly profile next to him yet again. Marco loved the way Dylan looked bathed in the cerulean glow of the TV. The soft smile on his face and the bright white stars in his eyes from the TV's glare. It made him seem ethereal, godlike even.  
  
And in many ways, perhaps he was.  
  
Marco had first met this boy quite a while ago, in his tenth year at Degrassi High on a beach trip with some friends. At that time Marco recieved his first male crush. Which, in the life of a tormented, closeted teenager, was quite the major emotional upheaval.  
  
His parents were homophobes, you see. His dad millions more so than his mother. The idea of actually dating a boy were pretty much permanently listed under the "when pigs fly" category.  
  
But a crush....now that seemed relatively safe. And thus, the crush began, raging hormones, girly flights of fantasy, and all.  
  
Then the safe, dark, little closet he'd taken refuge in was suddenly and ruthlessly torn down from around him, the day his friend Spinner found out. He had been on a "date" with a girl from school and after a reminder from a dear friend, he fled, no longer wishing to keep up the ridiculous charade. And Spinner followed, and questioned, didn't relent. And in a split second outburst...Marco let his secret slip.  
  
The feeling he had that day, Marco thought, was probably exactly what drowning felt like.  
  
There had been a silence of cold stone after his forced confession. Spinner's eyes had turned dark and the white waters crashed over head. The next day the words "MARCO IS GAY" were found over a urinal in the bathrooms, in Spinner's handwriting. And Marco couldn't breathe. He was suffocating in the roaring waters. Trying to cling to things that weren't really there.  
  
A short time later, Dylan was to have a hockey match. Marco readily accepted the invitation, scrabbling valiantly for the light source up above, promising life giving oxygen.  
  
That night, Marco lived through a nightmare.  
  
He was the subject of a gay bashing in a park. Beaten until he finally sank to the murky bottom, where no light could any longer be seen. And there he stayed for quite a while with only the thoughts of his parent's rejection to keep him company.  
  
He nearly died from this suffocation.  
  
Then, one day....someone saved him.  
  
The person was the grade twelve from what seemed so long ago. Dylan rescued him, asked him out. And while the date could not have been worse if Marco had tried, this wonderful boy stayed with him. Cared for him. Protected him from the dark waters that still lurked below.  
  
And Marco thanked God for this gift everyday. Even now, sitting with Dylan watching movies, he was sending silent thanks to whatever diety that would listen. They had been through so much together. The good, the bad, and the down right horrible, and yet they were still together, clinging for dear life. It was the summer before Marco's twelvth year, and still his parents were in the dark about his persuasion. The greater percent of his and Dylan's fights revolved around that.  
  
And Marco always ran from it.  
  
He still feared drowning.  
  
Marco and Dylan jumped when they heard Marco's cell phone ring. It was never exactly enjoyable to have loud noises go off during a cuddling/movie session. Marco rolled his eyes and cast an apologetic look over at Dylan as he dragged his mobile out of his jacket's pocket, from where he had thrown the garment on the coffee table earlier.  
  
Casting a quick glance at the small lit up screen and seeing the familiar number of his father's cell phone, he answered. "Hello."  
  
"Marco, where are you?"  
  
Marco looked at his companion out of the corner of his eyes. Ever since Dylan began college he hadn't seen much of him. A sad but true fact. And Marco could tell from his father's voice he would try to get him to come home.  
  
So...he lied.  
  
"I'm at Spinner's working on that project."  
  
There was a pregnant pause then his father finally spoke. "Your sister's going into labor. When can you get there?"  
  
Marco's eyes got huge and round at that statement. She was having the baby now!? Him and his whole family had been thoroughly overjoyed at the news of the upcoming addition. And now, it was finally happening.  
  
"Oh my god! I'll be there in ten minutes!" He turned to Dylan still in shock. "Ten minutes! Bye!" and hung up.  
  
"Dylan! The baby...it's...it's coming...right now...oh god! I gotta go!"  
  
Marco leapt to his feet grabbing his jacket and slinging it on. Grabbing his car keys out of his pocket he turned to Dylan and flung his arms around him and kissed him rather soundly, even though he had to end it faster than normal because he couldn't keep from smiling.  
  
"I love you! Oh my god! I'll call you later to tell you! Bye!" He stopped half way to the door and ran back and really kissed him, long and hard. With a quick peck on the cheek Marco stuttered an apology for leaving so soon. Dylan smiled hugely and ruffled his hair. "You're about to be an uncle! You have an excuse! Now go! Run!"  
  
Dylan yelled an "I love you" at his retreating back and turned back to his movie, unable to concentrate any longer.  
  
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Um, I have no idea how many, the gender, or even if Marco has any siblings. I'm just creating one as of right now. And also, I know they're acting really close...because they are. They've been dating for about ::counts:: two or three-ish years now. Yep. That's it.

Oh, except of course, R&R. I give cookies!


	2. The Tragedy

Buwahahaha! Here it is. And now everyone gets to find out what the summary meant.

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Marco drove as fast as he could down the quiet and deserted streets. He was still grinning like an idiot. It was even beginning to hurt a bit. Not that he particularly cared or anything. His sister was about to have a baby! His face could split in two...and then explode, and he doubted it would affect his mood too much.

Growing up, Julia, his older sister, had always been the most important person in his life. She loved to tell him stories of when he was small. He supposedly went up to complete strangers introducing her, showing her off. And nowadays, while he didn't run up to people on the street and tell them who she was, he still loved her dearly. The idea of having a little mini Julia running around, adorable and drooling, made him just that little more excited.

Pulling into the hospital parking lot Marco flung open the door to his SUV and proceeded to all but sprint to the building, hair swept back and flying behind him. In his hurry he had even forgot to lock the car doors, and he was vaguely aware the lights were still on.

His Aunt Marie met him just inside the doors and with only a slight nod and a grin in greeting they both set off racing down the sterile white hallways, Marco's aunt in the lead as a guide.

In the waiting room Marco's entire family, at least the half that weren't still in Italy, engulfed him in a flurry of hugs and pecks and manly back-claps. Eventually the activity died to a dull roar. It was always like that in his big Italian family. Loud, obnoxious, loving, and warm. It was a lovely feeling being surrounded by so many people who cared for each other. Though Marco often times felt very out of place among them.

An hour later Julia's husband burst into the room with a huge grin telling them all about the healthy little baby girl, pride in his eyes and voice, and making wild motions with his hands. There was much crying and laughing and Marco jumped up to join in on the family hugging/celebrating.

Yet another hour later, Marco was walking down the steps of the hospital with his arm around his mother's shoulders. He had finally hit his last growth spurt late in his eleventh year and was at least taller than her by now. He was grinning manically and recounting how cute she had been for about the millionth time. It had been amazing seeing her through the thick glass. A real miracle even.

Marco drove his mother home, because she had gotten a ride from Aunt Marie earlier that evening, and she had never gotten a driver's license. At home, tired yet happy, Marco went straight to his bedroom and got ready for bed, writing a mental note to call Dylan first thing in the morning.

Lying in his dark room, skirting on the very edge of sleep, Marco heard a blood piercing scream. Sitting straight up, he looked around in the black trying to slowly patch together what was going on. The glowing red numbers next to him said it was four AM. A very pitiful wailing could still be heard from the living area, muted through the walls. Marco had no idea what was going on, but he could tell it was bad. Jumping up he walked as quickly as he could to the den.

The living area was dimly lit, with only a couple of lamps shedding light around the room. Beyond the couch the front door was open and two policemen stood on the threshold looking down sympathetically....at his mother.

She was huddled against the wall in her dressing gown, legs drawn up and head buried in her knees. A desperate mewling noise bubbled up from her hidden face. It sounded like the epitome of helplessness and turmoil. Marco, dread rising, looked to the policemen for help.

"You're her son right?" said the taller cop, adjusting his hat slightly. Marco nodded, not liking the pity swimming in his eyes.

"You're....you're father was in an accident."

A rushing sound descended upon Marco's ears, pulsing through his mind, blocking his thought process. Like an unbearable weight pressing down on his nerve endings. "W-w...what? I don't think I heard you right."

"I'm afraid so. You're father was over near Madison and Vine. We don't know why yet, but his car was found totaled. Wrapped around a tree. He didn't make it." he stated with a professional air. It made the words hurt much worse than they should.

Marco very slowly started gaining feeling again.

_Madison and Vine? That's near where Spinner lived. _

He could feel the tears start to slip down his cheeks.

_His father must have been going to retrieve him. _

His hands shakily lifted to wipe some of the wetness away, but there were too many tears falling. He couldn't catch them all.

_He had lied to his father. _

Marco's knees gave out and he collapsed to the carpeted floor. He couldn't breathe.

_His father was dead because he had lied._

Marco looked up to the policemen. "I-oh god. Um, shit. Could you excuse us for a moment?" he choked out. He started crawling to his mother's huddled form.

"Yes, yes of course. We'll be out at the squad car when you need us." The two uniformed men turned and closed the door behind their retreating backs.

Marco took his mother in his arms, hating the shudders he could feel racking through her body. The same shudders going through him. He smoothed her hair and kissed her head, only to drop his face in the same spot and feel the tears coming even harder. He knew he should be trying to be strong for her. His father had always taught him to be a man. To be strong.

But his father wasn't here now.

_He had lied to his father. _

_His father was dead because he had lied._

The only thought that echoed through his mind was drowning.

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And that was it. Um, yeah. I should be talking here but I'm really tired so I'll just save it for three. Read. Review. Make me happy. Make me write. Get cookies. It's a lovely cycle is it not?


	3. The Funeral

Here is chapter three in all it's dramatic glory. Yet another chapter written on paper. I was babysitting at the time so my mind was kinda stuck between both of them...so it's probably very dry and boring. ::shrugs:: I dunno. You tell me.

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"May we always remember him fondly."

Marco winced slightly as he felt his mother's grip on his hand become firmer, her long fingernails digging into his flesh. Glancing out of the corner of his eye Marco could see she was an absolute mess. Ever since the news of her husband dying she had become a train wreck of raw emotion. Every time he saw her she had tears in her eyes. Her hands trembled all the time now, as if silent shockwaves were pulsing through her. The shaking had only gotten progressively worse due to her nonexistent appetite and insomnia. He had moved past pitying her to down right worrying over her well-being.

He had already lost one parent! Marco was doing everything in his power to keep his other one by his side. He needed her, needed one piece of sanity to hold on to. Even if by now she wasn't really there.

Guests would come by the house with their saran-wrapped casseroles and who knows what, trying in vain to do the neighborly thing. But not a single one so much as got a glance from her. She'd sit in front of the TV, eyes glazed over, seeing something a million miles away, clutching one of her husband's shirts, totally unaware of her well wishers. She consumed herself in her own misery.

Marco would always accept the food parcels and make small talk, but his eyes always strayed to his mother. Even while shaking the visitor's hands and seeing them to the door he subconsciously watched her.

It was more than a little disconcerting to see his mama, usually so full of life and charisma, almost a mere shell of a human being.

He forced small quantities of food into her nightly, tried to talk to her. Marco would tuck her in bed at night and stare down at her emotionless face, the beginnings of tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He'd smooth her hair and kiss her lightly on the forehead and leave her to stare vacantly at the ceiling in the dark, lonesome silence.

Later, while standing at the sink washing dishes with his sleeves rolled up and staring blankly out of the window into the dark, the tears would come. Fast and furious, and without mercy.

So many nights he spent wallowing in his grief, his shame....his guilt. He blamed himself entirely for his father's death.

If he hadn't lied to his father about being at Spinner's he would still be alive.

If he hadn't been at Dylan's he wouldn't have had to lie in the first place.

If he hadn't been gay everything would be alright.

If he hadn't been gay his father would still be alive.

His father had always preached over dinner of the sin that was homosexuality, and it always tore his insides to shreds. According to his father, being gay was the ultimate dishonor. It shamed yourself, it hurt your friends, and most importantly...it hurt your family.

Marco had never really listened to his father. Until now.

People were rising to their feet now and making their slow way to the exits. The eulogy was over. Now it was on to the burial. Marco rose, helping his mother up gently, wiping away silent tears with the back of his free hand. He had to be strong. Like his father had taught him. For his mama. Because his father was gone.

Stepping through the big oak doors and blinking owlishly in the sunlight Marco caught sight of something in the distance that almost made him violently ill.

About fifty feet away to the right was a tall and stately tree, bright yellow in color, several leaves to floating to the ground. Underneath the branches, in the shadow were a pair of strikingly blue eyes.

Dylan. His weakness. The reason he wasn't strong. The reason he had lied. The reason his father was dead.

The blonde moved from his standstill and began making his slightly hurried, nervous way over. Marco nervously signed with his hands, asking for a minute, and helped his mother into his Aunt Marie's car, telling her he would follow to the cemetery in his own car in a second.

With a soul-deep sigh he turned to Dylan.

Dylan looked Marco over, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the scraggly hair, and the dried tear tracks. He didn't know what to do. He stepped forward and took Marco in an embrace, burying his face in his hair, breathing in deeply, loving the steady heartbeat he could feel even through the layers of clothes. God how he loved this boy. He hated that look of utter turmoil in his eyes. He would gladly take it instead of him.

Pulling away Dylan's heart broke some more. Fresh tears were coursing down Marco's face. He felt Marco take his hand, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the hurt swimming in those dark eyes.

Until he felt it.

A tiny warm piece of metal being placed into his hand. Dylan cast a bewildered look at Marco then down to his palm where a thin band glinted up in the pale autumn sunlight.

Dylan gasped and threw his eyes back up to meet Marco's, where the silent tears still fell, but a cold look of determination had leeched in. It frightened him.

"I've got to go." said the dark teen emotionlessly, coldly. Marco made to leave but Dylan caught him by the wrist, forcing him to look back into his anguished face.

"I-I don't understand." Dylan whispered, his voice cracked and broken.

A cold burst of wind swept down, lifting their hair and causing goose bumps to rise on their skin. They stared at each other for several minutes, barely breathing, weeping silently, being shoved by people still leaving the funeral home, never breaking eye contact.

Finally, after the eternal quiet, Marco gently took his hand away. "I'm going to be late for my father's burial." and turned on his heel towards the parking lot.

Dylan stared after him unbelieving. Clutching the ring in his hand tighter, he brought his hands up to his face. He began crying in earnest, shoulders shaking, breathing coming out in sharp gasps.

Marco had given back the promise ring.

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Kayli Granberg-- no, he's not out yet. That's the main reason he's having these problems. :)

anjel919-- No, not evil! XD. This is just my lame attempt at drama. Anyway, no he won't turn straight....but he'll kinda not be...anything.

Reviews are nice. They are pretty and shiny. I like to snuggle them. ::snuggles reviews::


	4. The Aftermath

Sorry the updates for this story are so far inbetween. Writing this story, understandingly, makes me very depressed. :) But I will get it done. Because as down and broody as it makes me...it really is turning out nicely. So just bear with me. :)

Will Dylan and Marco get married?-- ::evil grin:: I dunno.

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The sympathy started that Monday. How I despised them. 

_"I'm sorry. I can't imagine what you're going through. I'm around if you need me"_

Such cold lifeless words. They fell like frozen rain, hurting...stinging. Showers of pain. Of guilt. Of shame. Rain so thick you couldn't even see the bleak horizon. The horizon you never knew you were even looking for...until it was too far away to grasp any longer.

_My light was gone._ The sun never shined.

Clouds of despair kept it at bay so well.

I often thought that there were walls of glass surrounding me. I could see everyone else. They could see me. But hearing and understanding were silenced through them, leaving me to the quiet that reverberated through my mind. With only haunting thoughts to keep me company.

And in my room of glass the temperature rose. The fire always hitting, even though I was too numb to absorb the flame. Instead of catching and blazing immediately I sat while I was slowly burned from the inside out by the looks from across the hallway from the other boy. They killed me.

Staring at his bowed head, not eating the food in front of me, I wonder why I still love him so much. It's like everytime I close my eyes he's there...waiting for me. Still in love with me too.

After a dead moment I looked up. It took me a moment to realize that he was looking at me. He had caught my eyes. A shiver of empty fire ran down my spine as the other boy's eyes crossed mine, piercing and intense and coloured with my dreams, before he looked away again.

The tears had stopped coming alteast. Finally.

But dry sorrow hurt even more.

I was amazed to find the earth kept turning. Lying awake on sleepless nights I wondered why the world was still going, still moving. Because for me, my world had ended the day of the funeral.

And it was still a shock to wake every morning and see the sun still rose. And it still hurt to see it set. Because that meant another day I was still alive.

Still alive with nothing to live for.

_Because my light was gone._

"Dylan." The blonde turned his head to look behind himself, away from the dark haired teen across the lunchroom. "Have you talked to him?"

Dylan shook his head slightly, the movement so dead and bogged down it was barely able to tell the shake was made at all. He turned away from Paige and continued to stare unabashedly at Marco. I felt we were so far away, as if we were on a different dimension, another wavelength altogether, instead of the thirty yards or so in reality.

"You need to. I can't understand why...but you still love him after all he's done to you." Paige said, placing her hands on his shoulders, trying to be consoling. "So will you...please?"

"Paige," she stopped breathing for a second, waiting to see if he was about to come round. Silently she prayed.

"Paige, just go away."

Sighing in defeat, distinctly hurt, she walked off. This was beyond her. Dylan's eyes never moved from their target however.

Because his light was gone. But perhaps if he waited long enough...the clouds might part. The horizon might reach his sight.

Marco might come back.

Dylan fingered the ring that hung from the chain around his neck....soft, smooth, warm. It was all he had left to hang on to. Except for the whisper of hope.

But the whisper was getting fainter every day.

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Review....because I'm really insecure about this story. I think it's rather stupid and melodramatic. So, review. Tell me how bad it was or even why it's good. Either way, I'd like to work on this one. :) 

Oh and cookies will of course be given. Because I haven't offered in a while.

Oh oh, while I'm thinking about it. Anjel919. I emailed you on your aol...but I doubt you got it/couldn't email me back. So if you still wanna ask your question...um, well, erm, try my livejournal! yeah. It's in my bio. Just leave a comment with your question and I'll respond that way. I am teh smart. ::is as loser::


	5. The Confrontation

"Mr. del Rossi!"

Marco jumped in surprise, wincing at the unbelievably loud crack his notebook made as it fell off his desk onto the floor.

"Um," Marco sputtered, turning a deep crimson. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't listening. Could you repeat the question?"

She stared down at him for several moments. So long even that Marco started to shift uneasily in his chair, trying to resist the heat that still tried to crawl up his neck under her beady gaze.

An endless minute later she finally moved to speak. "See me after class, Mr. del Rossi."

"Yes, Mrs. Kwan," he replied, hating the shame in his voice. It had been this way for days now. Wake up, poke at breakfast, walk sluggishly to school, arrive late, get in trouble, sit in class without listening, poke at lunch, brush off Ellie, more ignored classes, think mournfully about Dylan on his way home, be moody to his mama, poke at dinner, not do his homework, lay in bed wide awake, hit alarm at dawn, scrub at tear stained face, repeat. An endless cycle. It was like that ever since he left Dylan, he'd been running on auto pilot. And, a sardonic voice in the back of his mind chipped in, whoever was behind the wheel wasn't doing that great of a job.

Marco decided after that little display in front of the whole class that it was perhaps pertinent to pay attention. Hanging over the side of his desk, he grabbed his notebook and straightened back up. While he was taking out some paper to write notes on, he made the mistake of looking up however.

Paige, at the front, three rows ahead, was staring back at him calculatingly. Ever since his and Dylan's breakup, she had taken it upon herself to come up to him every single day to ask the question, _why?,_ with those big catty eyes of hers fixed upon him and seemingly looking straight through him.

Marco hadn't crumbled yet luckily. He usually found some way to change the subject or escape before his willpower was lost.

She wouldn't understand anyway.

How could she? She was straight, and in a perfectly acceptable relationship that both her parents condoned. That's what it all boiled down really, right? Parents. Three weeks it had been since his father had died.

_It was all his fault._

His mama was looking worse for wear, though she had obviously woken up to the fact she had to be the adult. Marco knew, despite her valiant effort to resume her life, that inside she was still the violent train wreck she had always been since the accident. She still didn't eat. She still didn't sleep.

More often than he cared to admit he had gotten up in the middle of the night to find her asleep on the couch with wet cheeks and alcohol on the coffee table. And everytime he woke her up and escorted her to her bedroom upstairs, he would throw away the empty bottles and put up the movie that was in the VCR. It was always the same one. The day of his mother and father's wedding.

_It was all his fault._

The bell signalling the end of the class rang, and Marco, so lost in his own throughts, jumped terribly. Glowering at the bell and then down at his empty paper, he stood and started throwing things in his bag haphazardly, crumbling his page of nonexistant notes as he went.

"Marco?" whispered a voice directly behind him. Slinging his bag agitatedly over his shoulder, he turned around to face Paige with more than a little glare gracing his features. Marco saw Paige open her mouth, but raised his hand quickly to stop her from speaking.

"As I say every single day...I can't tell you _WHY_, and I'm well aware that I'm not in the best of moods, as you can see. So right now is probably a very bad time to badger me about it. So please, leave before I say something horrible that I'll regret later."

The glare the blonde girl sent him could have frozen the whole English Channel, but she did atleast have the good grace to back down and leave. Marco, instantly feeling bad for his outburst, threw a heartfelt sorry at her retreating back. Turning around, Marco spied Mrs. Kwan pursing her lips at her desk, obviously waiting for Marco. With a huge, dejected sigh he trudged toward the front of the room.

It wasn't until he was before her desk under her unbelievably annoying gaze that the stern woman spoke. "Mr. del Rossi, that is the third time this week I've caught you not paying attention in my class."

She stopped short, dropping her eyes and fiddling with the half-graded papers on her desk. "I understand after....ahem, events surrounding you as of late, your concentration would be less than perfect, but..." She looked back up, smiling warmly. "But Marco, you've always been one of my favorite students, and I'd hate to see you throw away your amazing potential. Your father would have liked to see you be everything you could be, I'm sure."

By this point, Marco's gaze had averted to the floor, and his fingers had long since begun to play restlessly with his bag's shoulder strap. He knew her intentions were good, and she was right to top it all off. So why did it hurt so much?

He swallowed the painful lump in his throat and nodded almost imperceptibly. "I understand. I'll try harder. Thank you." Marco stood for a moment to see if there was anything more she wished to speak with him about, and seeing there wasn't, he hastily made an exit for the lunchroom, trying to ignore the phantom voices in his head.

_It was all his fault._

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He made it as far as the lockers in the middle of the now deserted hallway before everything caught up with him. His father, his mother, the aching, endless void he felt inside that Dylan, at one time, had filled so perfectly. It was so empty now.

Marco stood in front of his locker, simply staring at the blue metal. All the pain...it was rising, and he was trying desperately to keep the swells of emotion down; make the cold waves of despair calm before he was caught in a storm. Alas, his struggle was in vain.

He raised a hand to cover his mouth and muffle the choked sob that bubbled forth. Marco's head fell forward with force born of anger and helpless frustration, to land painfully against the locker door. Everything was gone. Feeling the warmth of scaulding tears rolling down his face he turned his body and allowed himself to give into the shaking of his knees and slide down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his head in the comforting darkness.

The voice in his head, rightfully dubbed his inner Dylan, murmered into his hypothetical ear. _"It doesn't have to hurt this much you know. Dylan's still out there."_

Dammit! Marco screamed internally. No! He wasn't like that anymore! His father was dead because he had been an unnatural freak! He was different now! He was better now! He was the way his father would have wanted! He....he was......he was different.....he......was.....

After several minutes of crying silently into his knees, and more than likely a few odd looks from the upperclassmen passing by, Marco lifted his head and stood up unsteadily, righting his clothes and rubbing with futility at his face as he went.

_It was all his fault._

Still rubbing at his eyes, but his mouth thinning into a tight line of determination, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder before continuing down the hallway. Halfway to the lunchroom he changed his mind abruptly, and opted to eat outside instead of where there was Paige to give him the third degree.

It wasn't until he was sitting on the bench at the front of the school with the pale autumn sunlight glaring down on him and an open textbook lying on his lap did the events of the day take their greatest turn. Looking up idly from the dreadfully boring passage on some president, his eyes caught on to a flash of light. A black sports car entered the parking lot, and only one person he knew drove a car like that, though the poor machine did look as old as it really was at this point.

_Dylan?_ What? Why in the hell was Dylan here?, Marco thought, feeling his panic rising like a palpable force. He was supposed to be safe here. Dylan wasn't in highschool anymore! He should be able to hide here!

Marco watched in fascinated horror as the older blonde climbed out of the car, hair shining much more dully than it once did and he could see the dark circles under his eyes even from this distance. It was easy to notice considering they were same ones that he himself had. Dylan looked off balance, like all the fluid in his ears had leaked out during his sleep. Or, the voice in his head chimed in, more like he was shaky due to insomnia.

Not many people knew, but Dylan had sleeping problems. He could lie awake for hours without blinking, and no amount of sleeping aids seemed to help. Marco was pretty sure the only time he'd seen the boy completely black out was the night he had stayed over and they had slept in the same room. And now that Marco was gone...he was sure Dylan's sleeping pattern was worse than ever. A horrible surge of guilt and concern threatened to consume him....but the panic won out.

Grabbing his bag and jamming his politics book inside, he all but fled towards the security of the school building, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, hoping beyond hope he didn't run into anyone. Luckily he didn't...but, unfortunately, Dylan saw him, no matter how hard he was trying to be invisible.

"Marco!"

Marco steadfastedly kept his gaze down, walking that little bit faster, feeling his hair sweeping back. "Marco!" came the broken voice again, from behind him. "Marco! Please!"

He felt his steps becoming slower...No! He couldn't!

"Please! I'm this close to begging! Three seconds!"

Dylan, seeing the Italian boy hadn't stopped, growled low in his throat, his eyes burning mysteriously, and when he spoke, his voice cracked in pain."Pl-lease Marco. Don't walk away again. Pl-ease."

That was all it took. Marco stopped walking, his back still facing him. Why? Why did the boy insist on making him love him? It wasn't supposed to be this hard to run away and forget. A silence of stone descended upon the scene, and a harsh, cold wind flew down, ruffling their hair and lifting their clothes slightly. Marco shivered, the action reflexive, the shiver traveling down his spine hollow.

The burning in Dylan's eyes seemed to get worse seeing the shake run down Marco's body from the cold. How often had he taken this same boy into his arms after seeing a shiver like that? How often had he had to push Marco's hair behind his ear when the wind made it fly wildly around his face? Actions, that at one time, he had made without a second's hesitation. Actions that he now had to hold in check.

It all hurt so much. He should hate him! He had walked away without a word, shoving the ring he had given him into his hand like it didn't matter. Like he hadn't taken it with a smile on his face and a whispered oath on his lips. He should _loathe _him!

But he didn't.

And all of the sudden all the pain was just too much. Marco still had his back to him, obviously waiting for something, but also not willing to even give him the time of day. In his frustration, he swore loudly to the cold air and turned, swinging blindly at the brick wall beside him. Fireworks of red and white burst beneath his closed eyelids and an explosion of pain erupted, spidering it's way up his arm from his now bleeding knuckles.

Marco, hearing the dull thud of a fist hitting the wall and Dylan's yell, flinched, and whirled around. He saw Dylan hunched over his bleeding hand and cursing every deity he could think of up one way and down the other. Watching as a very small puddle of blood formed on the cold sidewalk, Marco gave in unconciously to his heart, and several quick strides later he was in front of Dylan, cradling the swiftly purpling limb in his hands, cooing nonsense words in his ear.

After a rather long pause, in which Marco continued whispering to the silence, Dylan looked up. Now or never, he supposed.

"Why, Marco?"

Marco looked up instantaneously, looking like a caged tiger, eyes wide and fearful. The dark boy, seemingly only just now noticing the hand that he was holding, dropped it as if he had been burned, and backed up a few steps, doing his impression of a goldfish. "I-I...I, uh..."

Dylan stepped the three or so steps forward so he was directly in front of the younger boy once again. If the situation was different, he would probably have been amused at the sight of Marco stepping back further away from him.

"You just left! I haven't slept at all for a week and a half now! Jesus! I don't think I've even eaten, Marco! I'm falling behind in all my classes! I lay in my bed at night and only one thing...one person...is on my mind! The only person, I might add, that won't talk to me!"

Marco swallowed noisily, moving back an extra step. "Marco. Please! Just tell me _why_!" Dylan lurched forward, grabbing the Italian boy's shoulders gently, but firmly. "_I love you! _And you just _left _that day! And...And I just don't know what to think anymore! It's like every fucking thing I ever cared about is just disappearing into thin air. And I can't _breathe_ sometimes Marco."

Marco thought, this is hell. This. Is. Hell. Standing in front of the person you love, while they cry and talk of how they're falling apart...and you can't do a single thing at all. And worst of all....you're the very reason you can't help. You're own twisted ideas and morals was what kept this perfect, amazing person awake at nights. You're avoidance is what made the tears fall.

His hell was the fact that he was killing Dylan. And the worst part of all....he wasn't going to stop.

"Dylan," he whispered hollowly, gently removing the bloody hands that rested on his shoulders. "I've got to go. Lunch is about to be over."

"Dammit!" Dylan screamed, throwing his hands in the air, more tears coming. "There you go again! Talking to me in that fucking creepy robot voice and brushing me off like nothing has happened! What in the hell did I do Marco? Tell me, " he choked. "Tell me what I did wrong!"

Marco was backing up frightened...hoping for a quick escape. He had to get out before anything happened.

"Fine! Leave then! Who was I kidding to think that you could actually love me? God, I was such an idiot!" Marco cringed. He shouldn't. Oh, but he couldn't. He _couldn't._

"I do love you!" he roared. Dammit, he thought. Dylan stopped moving completely. All movement, that is, except for his shallow breathing. With a slight hesitation the blonde boy started making his way toward him. They were a foot away from each before he stopped, and he was silently happy that Marco hadn't stepped back.

"You....you do?"

Marco felt the tears he had kept in check through the whole situation finally make their shameful way down his face. "Y-yes." No! Tell him no! Don't give in!

He felt a hand come up to cup his face and it took all his self-restraint to not lean into the warmth offered there. "Then why did you leave?" The whisper was said without hate...without any emotion really. Except hope and confusion.

The hand on his face moved to wipe away the hot tears, and Marco closed his eyes tightly, trying not to make a fool of himself. "I can't tell you." he finally managed to shudder out.

"_Please_" came the silent plea, so quiet Marco wasn't sure he had heard it at all. Wondered if he had thought it himself. He looked up from beneath lowered lashes and, seeing the pain in the other boy's eyes, felt his heart rip in two...then in fourths...then in eighths. It was quickly being broken up until the splintering pieces were scraping painfully at his lungs to where he couldn't breathe.

Marco turned his head, giving into his pain just this once, and kissed the warm palm offered to him, before he turned and fled down the walk towards the school.

Dylan stared after him, feeling the pain coming up tenfold. The love of his life had left. _Again. _And, he reflected, it didn't get any better with time. Now he was simply left feeling empty yet again, with nothing but the whispered _"I'm sorry."_ to keep himself going.

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Hey all, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for the delay in my writing lately. The reason for the great chunks of time between chapters is because I've hit quite a rough patch recently. I've come to find my body reacts violently with stress, causing physical reactions. So much so that I passed out at school for the second time in my life (Ever wonder why I chose to make Marco do that in LTLWI?) Anyway, that was very long winded. Sorry. I just wanted you all to know that I definitely had a reason and I wasn't doing it to spite anyone or out of sheer laziness. I'd never do that. I love you guys to pieces, and feel absolutely horrible for my lack of writing lately. Forgive me. :D

Review! All the cool people are doing it.


	6. The Silent Pleas

Hey, sorry it took so long. Here you guys! It was going to end here but it just kept getting longer so we'll finish it up next chapter. Enjoy!

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Dylan stealthily made his way down the deserted hallway, a bright flower in his hand. The school's doors had only opened just seconds ago, and what few students who were actually there this early in the morning were staring into thin air like zombies in their half asleep fog.

Not Dylan, however. He marched down the silent halls with a steeled expression and very alert eyes staring out from his tired face. Ever since Marco had let it slip that perhaps his past feelings were not completely gone he had decided, if the emotion truly remained, he would win him back. At all costs, he would do anything in his power to have that boy back in his heart, his mind....his arms. For where else did he belong anyway?

Halting in front of one of the lockers, practically identical to every other, he let out a deep sigh and did the combination, silently thankful Marco had given him the code a year before.

Opening the door, Dylan allowed himself a moment to gaze into the other boy's domain and take in every little detail. It hurt, he mused, seeing his past love's possessions seemingly staring at him in their sightless way, reminding him of all the old times he had lost.

A book of poems by Frost rested on the top shelf, whispering a memory of the nights Marco had read the verses to him in his hesitant voice out of boredom and a need to share the wonder. His gaze shifted to a little lime green hackey sack situated next to the volume, scenes where he had been pelted in the head with said object for stealing kisses flooding his mind. Even the seemingly innocent textbooks at the bottom were giving off flashbacks of late night homework sessions to his wind swept mind. It was a lot to take.

And it _hurt_ so much, though the small, sad smile on his face would perhaps lead one to think otherwise. Sighing tiredly and running a hand through his unkempt hair, Dylan placed the bright yellow flower he had walked in with on top of an English book.

A daffodil. Marco's favorite. Don't ask him why, but in a way the slightly strange looking flower reminded him of the dark boy. Strange? Yes. Odd? Yes. But beautiful in a soft way. Cute, endearing, and warm. It always reminded him of spring and youth and innocence...things Marco radiated in waves. So perhaps it wasn't all that strange that Marco was so taken with them.

Or even that he was so taken with him. Smile disappearing a bit, he reached into his back pocket and took out a letter and gently taped it to the inside of the small door, the pages fluttering slightly in the stirred air. Lastly, he reached into his other back pocket and withdrew a bent piece of heavy paper. Flipping it to the other side he stared at two figures reaching across the distance, close enough to touch...but still so far away.

A lovers card form a tarot deck. It might be a bit silly, Dylan knew, but he kept this card tucked in between the paperbacks on his bookshelf. A reminder. He would take it out sometimes, usually when his loneliness became so great that it was a physical pain in his chest. Lately, he'd had to take it down more often than usual...to ease the pain.

A psychologist would say he was too dependent on another human being, and it was terribly unhealthy to be so attached to someone. But _dammit_ he didn't **care**! He just wanted Marco back. Any little bit of him he could manage to get.

A slammed door down the hall by the janitor caused Dylan to jump, shocked out of his melancholy stupor, and reminding him to close the locker in front of him. He watched wistfully as shadow slowly fell over the items inside, until he was only staring at a small metal door, and not the sea of memories that lurked behind it.

He should leave, he thought. And he did, trailing a delicate touch of fingers upon the locker before sadly walking away.

Dylan didn't know how many times he looked back over his shoulder as he made his slow way down the hall. Ten? Twenty? A lifetime of ephemeral glances?

"I'll wait forever," he whispered to the quiet.

One last glance.

"But....please...._please_ don't make me."

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Marco's morning was not going well. No not at all. It was one of those days where everything seemed to be going wrong. He woke up to find his mother on the couch, passed out from too much alcohol, a TV screen full of snow glaring in the corner. By the time he was done dragging his not entirely functional mother upstairs, he was ten minutes late and he was feeling depressed yet again over her state of well-being.

Halfway to homeroom his bag's shoulder strap ripped and he was now subjected to carrying it around like an overly large rock. Once actually in homeroom he made the discovery that, not only had he left his money at home, but his homework was mysteriously missing also. The second chat in the same week from Mrs. Kwan certainly did not help matters.

To say the least, he was having a very bad day.

After the end of fourth period he rushed off in the hopes of perhaps finding a couple of crumpled bills hiding in his locker, because he was starving from not eating that morning. Or the past few days, he chided internally.

The confrontation with Dylan four days ago had been bouncing around his rather numb mind at a constant rate, never even allowing him to sleep properly. Not that that was out of the normal anyway. He was missing the older boy like his right arm and he truly didn't known what he was going to do. In the beginning, it had been so easy to think about.

Leave Dylan. Live relatively happy knowing that he was at least not disgusting in his deceased father's eyes. But the moment Dylan had showed up at the funeral with tear filled eyes and his choked words his promising plan was reduced to mere dust.

Clearing his throat in a subconscious way he pushed the disturbing thoughts away and began to fiddle with the combination on his locker.

The first thing he noticed was yellow.

Marco swore he had jumped a mile in the air at the sight of the single, well-formed flower situated before him amongst his school books. It looked so innocent. Lying there, begging to be picked up and smelled and cherished. He stretched his arm out, reaching towards the velvet petals, only to come back to himself with a shake of the head and let out a shaky breath he had been holding.

No one knew his favorite were daffodils. No one.

Except Dylan. Marco closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the memory of the first time he had received a flower from this very same person.

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Something was tickling his nose.

That probably wasn't that big of a deal...except for the fact that he had been sleeping rather peacefully before said tickling occurred. Who had the audacity to bother him right now anyway? The tickling continued however, obviously dead set on driving him up the wall and making him a very grumpy person.

The smell that was floating around him was familiar though. One he instinctively knew before most everyone else's. But it wasn't exactly. Something was missing, but it was very close.

"Ma, go away. Quit tickling me."

To his great surprise a deep male voice laughed softly in his ear, raising the hair on the back on his neck. Opening his eyes to see who was waking him up, smelling like his mother no less, Marco was surprised yet again.

"Dylan? What are you doing here?"

The blonde smiled down at him charmingly and lifted a hand, the source of the tickling apparent, as he brushed the petals of the daffodil against his nose. "Ma, huh? What happened to 'good morning love of my life, and don't you look edible this morning?"

"Where did you get that flower?"

"I got it from your mother actually. She was fixing up a vase of them downstairs and asked if I'd like one. Why?"

Marco blushed and looked away, playing with the other boy's blonde curls as they fell down in his face. "They're my favorite," he said quietly, feeling rather embarrassed.

"They are, huh? Well, then, it's only suiting that you take it then. Happy birthday, love."

"Thank you."

------------------------------------------

Marco shuddered slightly, wishing he had a better rein on his thoughts. Little memories always had a habit of popping up at the most inopportune time. Drawing a shaky breath he moved to somehow get his English text out of from under the flower without actually touching it. It almost hurt to watch the delicate blossom slide and lay inelegantly on the locker bottom. Pitiful almost.

Pulling the book up against his chest, staring at the fallen flower, he noticed what lay beside it. A card it appeared to be. Bright colors. Yellows and reds and blues. An angel looking down on a man and woman. At the very bottom, in the grey border stood two bold words that spoke for themselves.

_The lovers. _

With a small gasp he grabbed the hat that hung from one of the hooks inside his locker and tossed it on top of the card, not wanting to see something that Dylan chose to give him for the blatant meaning behind it. It was too much.

His breathing very shallow by now, he backed away and was about to all but slam the door shut, but on the way closed a flutter of white made his heart stop. Scrunching his eyes up tightly he very slowly guided the door open again, not wanting to see what was taped there...but knowing it wasn't going to go away.

Could he perhaps tear it down and throw it away? One look at his name in the familiar scratchy handwriting told him no...no he could not. Because to get rid of it would be to miss out knowing.

With a silent prayer and a scared sigh, he snatched the letter off the locker and slammed it shut with a bang of finality. He would read it.

In a fit of nostalgia, Marco opted to go back to the bench outside of the school where he had been the four days prior...the day of the confrontation. It seemed a fitting, he supposed, to go where he had messed up so royally to read his little death note. A way of reminding himself that his slip would cost him his sanity in the long run.

On the warm bench, feeling the sun rays hit his shoulders and neck like small needles, he unfolded the note, almost expecting it to burst into flames. When it did not, he leaned back, reassuring himself he wouldn't cry. Crying was weak as his father said. Real men dealt with their problems with their heads held up high.

_Marco, _

_Where to begin. Hardest question of the day really. I just....I feel lost, Marco. I don't know what to feel. I don't know what to do. I don't know even know what to live for, for heaven's sake. _

_And I really don't know what I'm doing here either. I mean, every time I ask, you hole up inside yourself and stare at me like I'm an idiot for questioning you. Why do you look at me like that? Why do you talk in that dead voice? _

_What did I **DO**? _

_I lie awake at nights thinking about Christmas. Do you think about it at all? I suppose you must not considering you gave the ring back. Why did you say yes anyway, if it mattered that little to you? I...god, this is hard.. _

_What do you want me to do? I'll do anything. You want me to never touch you again, I can do that. You want me to never ask for commitment, hell I can do that too! But please. Please don't keep doing this. I'm freaking afraid. I've never been this depressed. I don't like it, Marco. It feels wrong. I'm scared what will happen.... _

_I'm sorry. You don't need that. Forget about it. Look...all I'm asking is to at least know why you seem like you can't even think about me anymore. I **need** to know. _

_I love you. I LOVE you. I L-O-V-E love you. I will be standing here waiting for you. Because...because I need you, cariad. More than anything. _

_With all my heart (which doesn't exactly belong to me any longer anyway),_

_Dylan _

The signature at the bottom blurred slightly as a drop of liquid fell down and drug the ink down the page with it. He was crying. God, what a day.

Why do you look at me like that? Why do you talk in that dead voice? Do you think about it at all? Why did you say yes anyway? What do you want me to do?

The many questions were everywhere. There was nowhere to hide. He'd been hiding for such a long time...and the emotions still always found him. Ever damn time.

It HURT. It hurt more than anything. Dylan talking about being afraid of what will happen. He knew what he had meant...and the startling reality of that statement hit him like a falling piano. Surely the boy wouldn't do something that drastic would he? Surely he wasn't so stupid.

But then again, hadn't he himself at least considered it on more than one occasion? God, this whole situation was so screwed up. Something would have to happen. But he couldn't. As much as it hurt...he was doing what had to be done.

It had to be done.

Roaring at the whole damn situation, at his life in general, Marco stood up abruptly and ripped the paper into shreds, screaming and crying out.

"I CAN'T DYLAN! YOU CAN'T ASK ME TO DO THIS!! IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! IT'S MINE! I JUST..." The tears were flooding down his face as he continued to shriek to the silence and tear at the note, feeling more helpless than he ever had before...too packed with emotion to think straight at all. "MY FATHER!! HE'S...HE'S GONE! AND WHAT DO I HAVE? I HAVE THE BIGGEST FREAKING GUILTY CONSCIENCE ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET AND A FAST APPROACHING MENTAL DISORDER!! I CAN'T DO THIS!!"

"I CAN'T DO THIS!! GOD....I-I...I...I can't. Oh Jesus, I CAN'T!" he finished weakly. Slumping bonelessly to the ground, utterly exhausted, more emotionally than physically and still crying a literal monsoon.

This wasn't hell, he thought.

Hell looked like a relaxing vacation at this point.

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cariad- a welsh endearment, like love or sweetheart.

I hope you guys liked it. That was hard to write too. lol. Well...I'll be back soon with the next chappie. Until then please do review...for they are nummy and fun to cuddle.


	7. The Accident

Again, sorry about the wait. It took _forever. _**Also, the poem near the end is property of the amazing Anjel919 (Melissa).** She is so brilliant and I'm honored that she allowed me to use it. Thank you dear.

Warnings- um, lots of language. Which I suppose is expected. And a makeout. Yep. that's it. Unless I should warn against fluff....?

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For Marco, life continued as it was wont to do. Everything was annoyingly dull. He still woke up and went to school. He still avoided Paige, though to be fair, she had pretty much given up, seeing him as a lost cause. Dylan hadn't showed up at the school, nor had any little letters found their way to him.  
  
Marco _did_ have a yellow flower waiting for him everyday.  
  
He had kept _every single one._  
  
The letter from ten days ago was well worn and tearstained, sitting beside his computer in front of his prom picture, blurred boyish handwriting partially obscuring two happy, carefree smiles. He didn't know why he kept it. To remind him he supposed.  
  
The tarot card had been taped to the inside of his notebook. He figured one of the main reasons the daffodil still made a daily appearance was Paige broadcasting his habit of staring at it in class to the whole world. Meddlesome brat.  
  
He seemed to be digging himself a hole, he realized. Doing all these stupid things to silently cry out to Dylan, from staring at the card to keeping the flowers. He might as well just jump into his dark little self-inflicted trap head first, and leave the shovel out of reach so he couldn't climb out and screw up his situation more.  
  
So now he had to ask himself just what in the hell he thought he was doing _here._  
  
Marco shook his head in internal agreement with his musings. He was at the hockey stadium. Dylan was out warming up on the ice....and here he was, hiding near the exits, openly staring at the love he had cast aside.  
  
Dylan went about lazily twirling his hockey stick and joking with his teammates, full of pre-game nerves, never noticing the dark boy in the shadows boring holes in his back with his stare.  
  
Which was perhaps lucky too, seeing as how Dylan's game would be completely shot if he knew Marco was here watching. His playing had been off since their "breakup" anyway. Marco had snuck in to watch him practice so many times he had lost count. If the very reason this boy's life was hell was to show up at his game....he didn't want to think what the blonde would do.  
  
Marco, knowing this, intelligently kept out of sight, simply happy to watch Dylan play again. He had missed this. The look of determination, the speed, the power. You could always tell that Dylan played with all he had, and even then, he seemed to steal energy from the lights, and the crowd, and the ice to keep going....to keep dominating the game.  
  
Marco loved to watch him warm up too. Stretching, laughing, moving about in the now familiar listless, unconcerned way he always did. The calm before the storm one could say. Even his eyes changed, going from bright skies and rolling waves to cold, crashing swells, an unadulterated force of nature, once the game began.  
  
Plus he was just sexy.  
  
A buzzer sounded loudly throughout the stadium and the commentary began blaring from all corners, people hurrying to their seats and making as much noise as humanly possible to cheer on their team. Even Marco let out a soft, enthusiastic yell to give Dylan luck.  
  
_Worst_ mistake in history.  
  
In the instant of one thundering breath, the head of golden curls he had had his sight on whipped around in the direction of his yelled encouragement. As if there was no one else in the room, his gaze landed immediately on the dark figure huddled into the wall and partly draped over a handrail.  
  
_Caught._  
  
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Dylan's breath stuttered the instant he heard the familiar voice. A voice that had been haunting his dreams and tormenting his waking hours for the longest time, belonging to the only person who had ever made him feel so _alive_....yet so _dead_ at the same time.  
  
Marco?  
  
Marco hadn't replied to his letter. He knew he wouldn't, he saw it coming....but it still stung. He would sit by his phone some nights and all but dare it to ring...dare Marco to call him. Other times he would simply stare at it and wish he had the guts to call him _himself_. And after a few hours of mental bickering with the telephone...he would heave himself up from his chair, tell his roommate to shut up and turn his music down, then flop on the bed to fall into a fitful sleep hours later in his clothes.  
  
Those nights were rather hard to get through.  
  
Others were easier...like the one he had visited Paige, staying up late in the night to talk about things. She of course only wanted to talk about Marco, and while he wasn't exactly a willing participant, he was rather good at this topic of conversation. His little sister had given him a detailed description of Marco's reaction to the flower...how later that day, he had picked it up, smelled it, and gently slipped it into a safe place in his bag to take home. She told him how he had done this everyday, for ten days.  
  
It was easier to take...knowing Marco still _felt _the same way, even if he didn't act like it.  
  
One last thing that Paige had helped with was her explanation she had laid out for Marco. She reasoned with him, telling him that Marco was perhaps feeling guilty....that his father's death was the straw that broke the camel's back. Dylan had always known how much the dark teen had idolized his father, and hearing this viewpoint made him come to terms with this predicament, though it didn't stop him from feeling hurt beyond all reason.  
  
And perhaps the greatest evidence that Marco still loved him....was Marco himself. It was the fact that this person was here....at his game. Albeit hiding, but here just the same. Here to cheer him on, here to support him through thick and thin, here to love him for whom he was and what he did best.  
  
Marco didn't break eye contact once it was made. The younger boy did jump horribly at being caught, but didn't flinch away. Marco knew that he at least owed Dylan this much. No explanations, no communication. He owed Dylan a _connection._  
  
And Dylan got it.  
  
The buzzer sounded again and one of his teammates yelled at him to get his skinny arse in position and prepare for battle. At his calling, he did indeed move to his place on the ice, breaking the gaze reluctantly. Please let Marco still be here after the game, he pleaded.  
  
_Please._  
  
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Dylan's concentration was gone. Absolutely gone. Stare at Marco, enter elbowing, crazy opponent, startled gasp, get griped at by the coach. It was insane! And yet, in the middle of all of this chaos he seemed hell bent on maintaining eye contact with this boy who had walked all over his heart. He was losing a game because Marco was simply_ there._  
  
No. Way.  
  
With a surge of determination, from God only knows where, Dylan sped off after the puck. He would win. He was better than this. Yes, he loved Marco. Yes, he wanted him back. But, dammit, hockey and one's love life never mixed!  
  
He was going to WIN!! He was almost there. Dylan clenched his teeth, feeling himself being shoved into the glass wall and falling over. A split second on the ground was all it took for him to get mad. He had almost been there! That little....little...! Roughly grabbing his stick off the ice he pulled himself off the ground with almost unearthly speed and raced off after the player who had pushed him. He'd wipe that smug look right off that moron's face, see if he didn't!  
  
Circling around the goal post with murder in his eyes and a grin showing malevolently from his face, he turned sharply, feeling a layer of shaved ice spray up from his skidding skates. He saw something huge coming towards him. Before he had time to even dodge to the side and avoid the hulking object he was rammed into with the force of a hammer. One second he's standing like a deer in headlights, the next he's plastered on the ice with a player in red on top of him.  
  
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"DYLAN!!!!!!"  
  
Marco detached himself from the railing he had been holding on to and sprinted down towards the glass walls surrounding the ice, tripping over his own two feet and shoving his way through awe struck onlookers. Panic was rising quickly inside of him, cutting off his breathing and a horrible, constricting, nasty feeling was rising in his chest. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.  
  
Dylan wasn't getting up. He was just lying there! Jesus, the ice was turning red! Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Come on, Marco, come on! Get to him. God, freaking learn to fly if you have to! Come on. Why won't these people move! I'm coming Dylan! Just...just hang on, I'm coming! I'm almost...I'm almost....  
  
_There._ Marco nearly cried in relief as he reached the large doorway that the staff used to get out onto the ice and shoved his way inside, running and falling all the way over to the gawking crowd around the fallen body. Why wasn't anyone doing anything! Marco cried internally again. Could they not comprehend what was going on? Dylan was lying there, surrounding by a puddle of his own blood. Surely there should be medical help out here. Where were they!  
  
Finally reaching the prone boy, he feel to his knees, much as he had many times on his way there, and brushed the blood sticky hair away from his head, kissing his hand, and feeling the overdue tears finally starting to prick around the corners of his eyes.  
  
"Come on, Dylan. Wake up. Wake up, baby." Without looking up, Marco saw three men with a stretcher rushing over to where they were out of the corner of his eye, and he silently thanked anyone who would listen. "Dylan....I love you. Come on...get up. P-please."  
  
"Son, I need you to back up just a bit okay? We need to get him in the ambulance. Are you riding up there with us?" Marco quickly nodded his head in the affirmative, reluctantly letting go of the older boy's limp hand and sliding away a couple of feet, watching them heave the comatose body onto the stretcher and quickly move him away. Snapping out of his stupor he stood and hastily followed the men, wiping away the tears that had started to fall and pushing his hair back stubbornly, trying to compose himself somewhat.  
  
Marco had never ridden in an ambulance before, and it was definitely not something he wanted to repeat any time soon. It was horrible. The feeling of tragedy hung in the air like an infected fog, making him cry harder. Dylan remained as he had been. Still, silent, and deathly pale. When one of the men told him that he was stable...Marco sobbed in relief but still looked on doubtfully at the too white pallor of his skin.  
  
However, the waiting room was nothing like the ambulance. It was_ worse_. There was a woman in the far corner who was crying into her hands, her long black hair almost touching the ground due to her doubled over state. A doctor stood over her with an air of forced apology, entirely too professional to project sympathy. On the direct opposite side of the room was a family smiling hugely and hugging in teary happiness. Their news had obviously been good. Marco felt like he was at the proverbial waiting room of the afterlife. On one side was the "up" stairs, and on the other were the "down" stairs.  
  
It was a scary thought.  
  
Twenty minutes of sitting alone and listening to the poor woman weep later, Paige and Mr. and Mrs. Michalchuk showed up, windswept and glassy eyed. Upon the confirmation from Marco that Dylan was indeed stable at the moment, Mrs. Michalchuk and Paige fell into a seat and began crying in earnest, Paige clinging to his arm in a desperate hold, and her mother doing the same to the elder Michalchuk.  
  
Now they waited.  
  
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Shit. Why does my head hurt? What in the hell happened?  
  
Dylan squeezed his eyes tightly, hiding from the small light that filtered in through his closed eyelids. Where was he?

What was that?  
  
Out of the suppressing silence a very small voice was whispering, shaking from emotion and very tired. The voice was so familiar...so achingly familiar. Dylan smiled inside, imagining the soft words floating through the air and falling lightly to feather on his face and keep him warm. Who was this? He _knew _this person....but who?  
  
As the voice continued talking to some phantom being he tuned in to the words that were actually being said. It shocked him deeply when his fuzzy mind linked the words to this beautiful voice. How could someone who sounded so bewitching....sound so sad?  
  
If you are ever going to love me  
Love me now, while I can know  
The sweet and tender feelings  
Which from true affection flow  
Love me now  
While I am living  
Do not wait until I am gone  
And then have it chiseled in marble  
Sweet words on ice-cold stone  
If you have tender thoughts of me  
Please tell me now  
If you wait until I am sleeping  
Never to awaken,  
There will be death between us  
And I won't hear you then  
So, if you love me, even a little bit  
Let me know it while I am living  
So I can treasure it.  
  
The heavy hearted words filtered through his head, slowly clicking and falling into place. Marco...that's what he felt about _Marco_. That....that was one of the poems Marco had written for him so long ago. How many nights recently had he chanted that before he fell asleep?  
  
Marco....the voice...it sounded like _Marco_. So quiet, hesitant, and earnest. No one else sounded like that. The same voice that recited poems to him off the top of his head, giggling in that smitten way when he kissed his nose afterwards. Marco.....  
  
Marco was _here_?  
  
"M-Marco?" Dylan managed to croak out, using what little strength he had to open his eyes. "Marco?"  
  
A dim room swam into view and stretched out before him, white curtains and walls darkened to a warm yellow under the light of a single lamp by his bed. The hospital. He'd been here before. Twelve times in fact. But who in hell cared? Marco was here! Here beside his bed, whispering the poem that said every word his heart cried out at night.  
  
Marco was looking down at him with the same look as he had had when their eyes had met across the stadium earlier at the game. Caught.  
  
"_The Time Is Now_," Dylan murmured, words cracking slightly from the dryness of his throat. The title of the poem. It still didn't explain why Marco was here. Why he wasn't walking away and figuratively spitting in his face.

"Marco...w-why are you here?"  
  
The dark haired boy's shoulders drooped ever so slightly, and his eyes gave him away. Caught.  
  
"Dylan....I...." Dylan raised a hand to stop him. He couldn't listen to this. Not now. Not when he was just so ecstatic to be in the same room with him. Memories flashed through his mind. A yelled I love you at a retreating back, a funeral, a confrontation....  
  
"Don't. Just...just tell me....are you going to walk away? Are you going to leave again?"

Right then and there Dylan decided that the feeling that rushed through his body at the slight shake from Marco had to be the best thing he'd ever felt. Except maybe his first kiss with this very same person.  
  
In fact, that was the only thing he could think of right about now.  
  
Defiantly scrubbing away the tears brimming up, he made a tiny movement with his hand, ushering Marco over. "C'mere," Dylan whispered quietly. _Marco was back_.  
  
As Marco crawled forward into the embrace with a choked sob, Dylan felt the tears fall against his desperate wishes that they would disappear. Marco was back! Marco was in his arms, nose buried in his chest, and hot tears soaking his gown. But he didn't mind. _Back_. "Oh God, please stay. Stay forever."  
  
The nod he felt pressed into his neck was all he needed. Clutching the small body closer he kissed the forehead under his chin over and over. Small, feather light pecks that he couldn't seem to get enough of. The fact that he could at all lifted him up higher than a kite. Marco was back!  
  
Marco lifted his head and pressed his lips to Dylan's, trembling in relief and entirely too full of pinned up emotions to be slow or gentle at all. All that mattered was that he never stopped kissing Dylan. Never. He needed to stay right here forever, locked in this dizzying embrace until he passed out from lack of oxygen....until they were both too high to ever come back down again, until they somehow melted together, becoming one and the same entity.  
  
Marco lifted himself from where he had been on his knees beside the bed and climbed up, straddling Dylan's waist, feeling strong, yet shaking hands slip through his hair and slide up and down his back. It all felt so familiar, like a homecoming....but also so new and exciting and different, burning away any thoughts that tried to leak into his feverish mind.

He'd been taken back. He was lying in the arms of the only person that mattered. He was internally cursing every single time he had ever walked away or ever denied himself this, while at the same time he praised Dylan. _He was back._  
  
Marco's chest began tightening from the lack of air, and he was forced to slow it down and reluctantly part, softening it with a few tiny kisses. His mind was spinning from relief and happiness and other feelings that didn't even have names.

Mingled harsh breathing was the only sound in the overly quiet room...and it was enough. _He was back._ He'd almost lost this boy...forever. And there was no way in hell he was ever losing him again.  
  
_Ever._  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dylan did later prove to need quite a lot of groveling. Something Marco was only too happy to give. He had screwed up. Royally. And he knew it. Dylan, on his part, healed nicely after his accident, though his sight had been damaged irreparably, forcing him to wear contacts from that day out. He didn't seem to mind so much knowing that Marco had to use a pair of reading glasses, but it was still embarrassing.  
  
They never really talked about the "breakup." There was nothing to actually talk about. A rather large blip on the radar, yes...but one that proved to give insight into what love was exactly. What exactly they had almost lost and what they had gained tenfold.  
  
It was about taking the _good_...along with the _bad._ It was about holding out for someone...even when they kicked you when you were down. It was about the "to love and to cherish, until death do us part."  
  
It was about how you could always run....but how hiding from something so pure and perfect was impossible in every way. Because you're bound forever, against your will....though it is a contract that you gladly sign with the blindfold firmly in place.  
  
Love is blind. Love hurts.  
  
Love is not a word; it is a sentence.  
  
And Marco and Dylan knew they had been found guilty...and they willingly walked down the long hall. Trials, tribulations, and pain....what are they in the face of love?  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Marco tucked his flyaway hair behind his ear, glaring at the wind that didn't seem to want to let up anytime soon this blustery, grey Sunday morning. He had gone to mass earlier....to pray for strength, to pray for a blessing. He hoped he had been heard.  
  
A warm gloved hand gently lay on his shoulder, sliding over to caress his neck softly. A voice breathed warmly against his ear, and a nose nuzzled into his hair. "Are you okay?"  
  
Marco turned around slightly, kissing Dylan slowly and softly, trying to ease his nerves, a smile creeping up and making it end. "Yeah....yeah I'm fine," he whispered.  
  
He swallowed noisily and stepped forward, kneeling on the cold grass and staring at the two granite stones that stood out tall and proud among the many red poinsettias and roses.  
  
"Hey ma, pa." He stopped, tenderly brushing a finger across the silver band on his left hand. "I know I never told you...and now is a bit too late...."

He sighed and glanced over his shoulder at Dylan who was crouched behind him and waiting to see if he was needed. Marco stared at him for a long moment, thinking back to every thing that had happened over the years. It _had _been worth it. It still was. With a determined glint in his eyes Marco turned back to his parents.  
  
"....but I'm in love with someone. Have been for almost four years now. And I'm so sorry I never said anything while you were both alive...I had wanted to. I had planned on it even....but..." Marco cut off, covering his mouth to muffle the sobs that had begun. "...But, I was afraid. And I know you've been watching over me...you know what Dylan is to me..."

Marco heard Dylan shift restlessly behind him but shook his head to warn him. He had to do this. For himself.  
  
"...I- I can only hope that you are both happy that I've found someone, regardless of who they are....and that you can continue to love me and look at me like you always have....because I love him more than anything. More than absolutely _anything_....and I'm upset that I didn't realize that years ago."  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted....a perfect straight son. A man. I am _so_ sorry. And I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that I will never know what you thought of him."

A hand landed on his shoulder and Marco covered his eyes with his hand, hiding his tears and struggling to find the words, to find what to say. He had planned to say so many things....he'd been writing little speeches in his head since tenth year. But now the words just weren't coming. He finally settled on something he'd been thinking about all day.  
  
"It's Christmas today. Did you know? I keep thinking what it would have been like....all of us together. Sitting around the table, eating and laughing....Dylan there too....So many what-ifs that keep running around in my head." An arm snaked around his shoulders and held him close as the tears started rolling down onto the daffodils he held in his hand.  
  
"I can only hope that you can hear me...that you're listening. That you understand.....that you love me just as much as you always have. I'll never know though....but at least I've told you now...even if it's too late."  
  
With a sigh that seemed to steal away a little bit of himself Marco turned his body to lean into the warmth offered behind him, burying his face in Dylan's neck and bringing his arms up to hold him close. For several minutes the two of them stayed in the embrace, the harsh wind lifting their hair and their clothes, sending miles of goose bumps up along their exposed necks.  
  
"C'mon love. Let's go home," Dylan whispered into the black hair under his nose, kissing his crown a few times in silent support. "It's freezing." Marco nodded slightly, and with the help of the taller man, righted himself and placed the bundle of fragrant flowers on top of the cold tombstones staring at the pair of them in their sightless way. Marco hoped with approval.  
  
Dylan drew Marco up from the ground and tucked an arm around his waist, a hand coming up to cup his face. "How does it feel?"  
  
Marco thought about it. His whole life had fell down a bottomless pit the day his father died....and it had taken a hell of a long time to climb back up. But Dylan had been there, pulling on the rope to drag him back to safety. A couple of rockslides....his mother's death from prolonged malnutrition two months after their reconciliation, Dylan's knee injury that kept him from playing any longer....so many little speed bumps....but they had **made it.**  
  
"It hurts," Marco answered truthfully.  
  
"Yeah, it will for awhile. It'll get easier. I promise." Marco rose up on his tiptoes and pressed his lips fervently to his husband's, closing his eyes and losing himself in the timeless feeling that was kissing Dylan. He hoped that would never change.  
  
With a blissful sigh and a soft smile, Marco lowered himself back down. "Let's go home, Cariad. Paige will kill me if I'm not there to keep your mother away from the Christmas food. Is there a rule somewhere that says Michalchuks can't cook? You're all hopeless, I swear!" Dylan smiled cheezily and grabbed his love's hand as they walked out of the quiet cemetery. He watched Marco throw small, almost unnoticed looks back at his parents and pulled him closer.  
  
Love is an endless act of forgiveness, a tender look that becomes habit.  
  
And deep inside Dylan knew that Marco's parents would have accepted them....because they loved their son. As did he. A never ending cycle. It never stopped. Love always caught up with you. And while you perhaps didn't know it at the time, in this game of tag, you _want_ to be caught.  
  
Because you can run....but you can never hide.

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Finis.


End file.
